the backyard of Han Ling's villa, silence reigned. The spiritual vein beneath the ground flowed quietly, the night wind heavy with dampness—yet at a certain moment, the air seemed to freeze.
Han Ling raised his hand, and dozens of talisman papers floated into the air. Guided by the spiritual power at his fingertips, they arranged themselves into a formation, encircling Leander at the center. Spiritual runes flickered across their surfaces, glowing faintly as though waiting for some terrifying force to descend.
"Remember—once the heavenly lightning falls, don't resist it outwardly. Draw it into your body instead," Han Ling instructed from not far away, his expression calm yet edged with worry.
"These talismans will convert the backlash into spiritual energy. You only need to grit your teeth and endure the direct strikes."
